The Would-Begetter (12 page)

Hector gripped the steering wheel with both hands, the better to concentrate his mind. He would have to face up to some uncomfortable thoughts. There was no getting away from the fact that Zillah was not a very suitable prospect as a wife; definitely more mistress material – for bed but not board. But that was not all; it seemed she couldn’t cook. She didn’t appear to recognise the necessity for housework at all, and she
was noticeably deficient in the normal female capacity for self-reproach which, in Hector’s view, was the essential cornerstone of a good marriage. How, he wondered, could a man manage such a woman? There were no obvious constraints; no sanctions one could employ. She held all the cards.

And then of course there was the boy to consider. He would be part of the package. Hector would have to be a stepfather to him, would have to get used to having him around all the time, for another nine years at the very least. Would (God forbid!) for Christian’s sake, have to be polite to Clive…

Then the optimistic side of Hector rose to the fore and he said to himself: Easy! Christian and I like each other. What’s the problem? Anyway, Zillah-as-a-guest is probably a totally different reality to Zillah-as-a-wife. As guest, she was probably being super-sensitive; trying not to interfere in my house. But as Mrs Mudgeley…

‘Here we are,’ Zillah said. ‘On the left, just here.’

‘Home!’
Christian cried.

Hector braked and drew up outside a run-down cottage. Dead carpets and easy chairs with tide-marks had been dumped in the front garden and were still there. It looked decidedly insanitary. Christian scrambled out of the car without closing the door, and ran round to the back of the house.

‘Are you sure it’s fit for human habitation?’ Hector asked.

‘It’s fine inside,’ Zillah assured him.

‘Well, I think I ought just to make sure…’

‘NO! Stay put Hector. My landlord has had hot-air blowers drying it all out, and he’s got’ us new carpets and chairs and stuff. He rang yesterday to tell me all about it.’

‘You never said?’

‘Well you were at work at the time. So anyway, thanks for everything. Don’t bother seeing us in. We’ll be fine.’ She opened her door and got out. Then she pulled the two cases and a cardboard box of books from the back seat, and stood them on the road.

‘But Zillah,’ Hector said, leaning across her seat and looking up at her, ‘You haven’t given me your phone number?’

‘Haven’t got one.’

‘But I will see you again, soon? We could go out for the odd meal?’

‘Somehow I don’t think Clive would be too keen on that idea,’ Zillah said, starting to close the door. Hector held it open.

‘But you’re not married to the man!’

‘Well that’s hardly the point, is it?’

‘MUM!’ Christian called, running back breathless, ‘my bike
is
still in the shed. No one nicked it. Isn’t it great!’

‘Good,’ Zillah smiled round at him. ‘Say thank-you to Hector then, and help me carry the bags in.’

‘Thanks,’ Christian said. ‘It was… great. Thanks for all the books too.’

‘You’re welcome.’

“Bye then.’

‘Goodbye Zillah,’ Hector called, but she was already in the cottage porch with her back to him, and she didn’t even turn and wave as he slammed the car door and drove away.

Hector felt miserable and furious all the way back into town. It was Saturday morning and he had the whole weekend ahead, with nothing to take his mind off her casual rejection. He felt badly in need of comfort and reassurance. Then he remembered the expression in a woman’s eyes not so very long ago, which had conveyed everything that he now most wanted to feel. So, without further thought, he drove straight to her house and hammered on the door. It wasn’t until she opened it, that he began to have qualms.

‘Uh, hello Wendy,’ he said.

Jess drove to Caroline’s flat one Saturday evening in early April. It had been a heavy week and she had been in the darkroom all that morning, catching up on the backlog of photo re-prints requested by readers of the
Chronicle
. She was glad to be up to date, but tired, and ready for a relaxing time doing nothing special. She and Caroline hadn’t seen much of each other since before Christmas. Both had been so busy at work.

‘Hello,’ Caroline said, giving her a hug. ‘Come in. How lovely to see you.’ Jess was flattered to notice her Christmas present hanging on the wall in the kitchen. ‘Looks great there, doesn’t it?’ Caroline said, following her gaze. ‘Pity really, but I’m sure it will look good anywhere I choose to hang it.’

‘Sorry? I’m not with you,’ Jess said.

‘Glass of wine?’ Caroline asked, ‘or cider? See, I remembered this time!’

‘Cider would be lovely, thanks.’

‘Let’s go and sit down comfortably then. I’ve got lots to tell you.’

Jess noticed that Caroline herself was not drinking anything, so she held her glass tentatively, feeling that perhaps she shouldn’t either. As they sat down opposite each other, Caroline said, ‘I’ve been head-hunted,’ she looked triumphant, ‘by a firm in London!’

‘But you’ve only been here since December…’ Jess said. ‘So, won’t your present company feel a bit…?’

‘Yes it is tough on them, but that’s life, and it’s a wonderful opportunity for me. It’s a much bigger operation in London, masses more scope.’

‘I shall really miss you,’ Jess said.

‘You can come and stay,’ Caroline encouraged her.
‘Weekends in the big city; visits to the theatre, concerts, to say nothing of shopping.’

‘It won’t be the same… But I am pleased for you. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’ Caroline looked pussy-cat sleek. She didn’t seem to have changed in any clearly defined way, but she looked… fulfilled? extra assertive?
glossy
. This is where I get left behind, Jess thought sadly.

‘But that’s not the most important thing,’ Caroline said, almost carelessly. ‘The best news is that I’m pregnant.’

Jess was astonished. ‘So… when’s it due?’ she managed to ask.

‘Twenty-first of September or thereabouts. I’m just beginning to feel the bump!’ She patted her stomach.

‘But what about your new job?’

‘I haven’t told them yet, but it’ll be fine. I’ll get myself a nanny for the first few years; no sweat.’

‘But… are you and Vivian going to get married?’

Caroline gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Good heavens, no,’ she said. ‘Vivian hates mess. He’d be useless as a father.’ Her expression did not invite Jess to enquire further.

‘Oh… um… well what about you? Your life is so ordered, so sophisticated. How do you feel?’

‘Ecstatic,’ Caroline said simply. ‘If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be feeling like this, I’d have laughed in your face, but there you are. That’s hormones for you. I’ve never felt so content. I’m positively cow-like!’

‘But won’t the new job be very tiring?’

‘Probably, but I’ll have four months or so before the baby’s born, to get settled in. I don’t foresee any major problems.’

‘Oh.’ Jess was unconvinced. ‘Good.’

‘You’re shocked,’ Caroline said. ‘I’m sorry. I should have led up to it more gradually; not been so abrupt.’

‘No… no I’m not. I’m just… surprised. But I’m so happy for you. It’s wonderful news.’

‘It does take a bit of getting used to,’ Caroline admitted. ‘That’s why I’ve been rather antisocial of late. But once it sinks in – it’s heaven. Just don’t let me get like those other mothers I used to complain about so vehemently, will you? You must stop me if I rabbit on and on about wonderbabe.’

Jess managed a nod and a smile. ‘Somehow,’ she said, ‘I very much doubt you’ll have time for all those theatre visits and things. You’ll be far too busy.’

‘Never!’ Caroline retorted cheerfully. ‘More cider? No, if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that this baby is
not
going to take over my life.’

In the absence of Zillah Hector found himself, more and more often these days, thrown back on to Wendy. As he thought this, he acknowledged that it was an unfortunate way of putting it, but accurate nevertheless. The first time he had been back to see her after Christmas – the day he’d taken Zillah home – Wendy had been almost shirty with him! He had hoped that she would have been sensitive to his mood; would have noticed that he was feeling low. Eventually though it did sink in, and she’d cooked him a tasty meal and had soothed his hurt feelings the best way known to man, in bed. Hector, his self-esteem restored, had even remembered the following morning that Wendy was due an explanation for his apparent inhospitality at Christmas.

As he ate the two delicious soft-boiled eggs Wendy had cooked him for breakfast, he dipped the fingers of toast into each perfect runny yolk, and began: ‘I believe I owe you an apology for saying the wrong thing on Christmas day.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. You remember, when you arrived at my door at the same time as that slob, Clive? I’m afraid I wasn’t at my best. I’d had a simply frantic morning.’

‘Really?’ Wendy looked wary but interested.

‘Yes, really. Zillah – the woman and her son who were made homeless by the flood, you know? Well, she couldn’t cook! Can you believe that? And I’m no earthly good in the kitchen. I’ve never had to be, you see. So I’d kind of taken it for granted that she would help out while she was staying with me. That’s not unreasonable, is it?’

‘Not at all,’ Wendy said. ‘It’s the least she could have done.’

‘Exactly. Well to cut a long story short, she didn’t, and I was lumbered with cooking the lot; roast goose, veg, Christmas pudding, everything. So when you arrived, you can understand that I was at my wits’ end; not myself at all. I’m sorry I didn’t
introduce you properly. I must have seemed very rude. I just didn’t know whether I was coming or going. Talk about culinary harassment!’ Hector waited for Wendy to acknowledge this heroic effort, but she was clearly hoping for more. ‘So when you suddenly left,’ he went on hurriedly, ‘naturally I should have run straight after you. I can see that now. I would have, but I didn’t dare leave the kitchen in case the whole place caught fire or exploded or something.’ He spread both hands in a charming gesture of male incompetence in the face of superior female expertise.

‘Oh,’ Wendy said. ‘I thought you were just trying to get rid of me.’

‘Good heavens, no!’

‘You said I was your decorator.’

‘No, surely not?’

‘Yes you did.’

‘How ridiculous of me.’ He patted her hand on the table. ‘I’m so sorry. What can I have been thinking of?’

‘I thought you were ashamed of you and me… you know…’

‘Of our going to bed together?’

‘Yes.’ Wendy flushed and stared down at her plate.

‘You old silly,’ Hector said, picking up her hand and squeezing it. ‘I was trying to be gallant; to protect your honour… I mean I didn’t know whether you wanted to acknowledge our relationship so early on, did I? I mean, if I’d said, “This is Wendy, my current lover,” you would have been well and truly put on the spot, wouldn’t you? I couldn’t have risked that.’

‘I wouldn’t have minded. You could have said I was your girlfriend. You see, I thought that you and… that woman…’

‘Oh no,’ Hector said breezily. ‘I just felt sorry for her and the boy. That was all.’

‘I’m really glad, Hector.’ She squeezed his hand in return. ‘I was so miserable.’ She looked up at him shyly.

‘Well,’ Hector said, breathing deeply, ‘all right now, eh?’

It’s not that I really want Wendy in place of Zillah, he told himself; certainly not. It’s just that Wendy seems to have the capacity to restore my morale, and as she clearly fancies me rotten, it seems to be a mutually beneficial arrangement. Of
course, I’ll have to make certain she understands the imper-manence of it, but since we’re both clearly in need of a bit of nookey…

From then on, and without really meaning to commit himself, Hector allowed Wendy to nudge him into a whole series of regular habits. When Hector wasn’t on duty, they spent the weekends together in alternate houses. They went out for a meal one night a week, usually Wednesdays. Wendy began to do some of Hector’s washing, and ironed his shirts. She even darned a pair of his socks. She’s a sweet thing, Hector thought, and she means well, but I have to admit that she isn’t exactly challenging.

In view of this crucial deficit, Hector was careful to hang on to his own independence and be alone whenever he felt like it. He also made sure that he didn’t have to account for his movements to Wendy. He’d had more than enough of that with Megan. But he did allow her to freshen up the walls of his flat with a lick of paint, and a length or two of wallpaper, being careful, of course, to do all the choosing of colours and styles himself.

Then, when Wendy wasn’t around, and when he could wangle a trip out on
Chronicle
business, he would drive to his destination the pretty way, via Zillah’s cottage, in the hope of seeing her. The first time he went, he had been lucky. He had caught her by the front gate and had actually spoken to her.

‘Look Hector,’ she’d said. ‘I’m grateful to you for helping us, but that’s it. That’s as far as it goes. We’re fine now. End of story. OK?’

‘But Zillah, what about the great times we had in bed. Don’t they mean anything to you?’

‘They did.’

‘Did what?’

‘Mean something,’ Zillah said. ‘In a word: rent.’

After that, Hector didn’t try to speak to her any more, but he cruised past regularly, hoping to catch a glimpse, trying to see whether she perhaps looked a little plumper or had taken to wearing smock tops. After all, he reminded himself, they had made love eight times, so it was remotely possible… and if it were to turn out to be true, then it would naturally put an entirely new complexion on things. But he didn’t see her.
The cottage windows looked blank, and grass now sprouted from the abandoned chairs in the front garden.

Daft sod! Hector admonished himself. Fat chance!

Jess was more often than not out at lunchtime, so she packed a few sandwiches each morning as a matter of course and scoffed them in the Jeep during spare moments. But if she happened to be in, she ate them in the
Chronicle’s
coffee area with whoever else was around. This Thursday the small lobby was full, too full, of the ten or so people who made up the weekly inserter crew, who came in to assemble the paper from its three separately printed sections. The press was thundering away in the basement below them, shaking the whole building. Jess could feel the vibrations on the soles of her feet as she stood by the drinks machine and felt in her pocket for some change. Do I really want to put up with all this cigarette smoke, she wondered, or…?